7. Cody
CHAPTER 7
Cody
Pain detonated through my core as Bruce’s fist buried into my stomach. I crumpled forward, gasping for breath. The terror in the woman’s eyes escalated to sheer panic. She wasn’t just frightened, she was scared to death. A cold spark flared in Bruce’s eyes.
I couldn’t believe the bastard had actually hit me. I locked eyes with the bound woman and her silent plea for help screamed through the void between us. I had to save her. But Bruce was a monster—bigger, stronger, and fueled by a cruelty that had already claimed the lives of my dogs. What else was he capable of?
I grunted, forcing myself upright and my ragged breaths burned. I locked eyes with him, and a wave of defiance coursed through me. I couldn’t back down. Not now.
He shook his head in a silent, menacing warning.
The rumble of an old engine echoed through the night and relief flooded through me. Uncle John’s back.
Clenching my fists, I charged from the stall and Bruce’s heavy boots thudded behind me. Every instinct screamed at me to sprint to my uncle, but I forced myself to stay composed.
“John. I need to speak to you,” Bruce barked from behind me.
Uncle John slid out of the driver’s seat, shut the door, and turned toward us. He staggered, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Damn it, he’s drunk.
“Uncle John. We have a situation,” I called ahead, hoping to cut through his haze.
John burped and scowled. “What now?”
“I caught a woman trespassing,” Bruce bellowed over my shoulder.
“You don’t know that!” I snapped, glaring at the butt-ugly brute.
Shaking his head, John scratched his chest and faced us with his hands on his hips.
I strode right up to him. “He has a woman hogtied in the barn.”
“What?” John’s breath reeked of rum.
“She was snooping around places she shouldn’t,” Bruce growled, inches from John’s face, and when an unspoken tension crackled between them, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was going on.
John jabbed a finger at me. “Get inside.”
Get inside? What the fuck? My thoughts spun. None of this made sense.
Uncle John nodded at Bruce, then grabbed my arm, dragging me forward.
I yanked my arm free, my body tensing as I searched John’s face for answers but got his stony glare instead.
“Just get inside, Cody,” he growled, daring me to defy him. We’d had our arguments over the years, but he’d never forced me to do anything, even when we agreed to disagree.
Bruce followed with a cocky smirk plastered on his face that I itched to wipe off with one solid punch.
The floorboards groaned under my boots as I was forced onto the homestead’s wrap-around veranda. John staggered up the stairs, then nodded at me to go ahead of him through the front door.
I stormed into the living area and the stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke clung to the air. Whirling around, I confronted Uncle John. “He can’t keep the woman tied?—”
“Shut up,” Uncle John barked, raising his hand to silence me. But as our eyes met, something flickered in his expression, and he slowly lowered his hand. “Just . . . give me a minute with Bruce, okay?”
Bruce’s heavy footsteps echoed up the hallway, and he emerged and used his bulky frame to block the doorway like a menacing shadow.
I clenched my fists, aching to wipe that fucking smirk off his face. “You can’t just?—”
“Cody!” John snapped, his eyes cold and unyielding. “Just wait. Now stay here.”
Rage blazed inside me as they moved to the corner, just out of earshot, and stood so Bruce could lock his gaze on me in a menacing taunt. I couldn’t hear them, but I knew full well that Bruce would be telling John a load of horseshit.
Anger surged through me in a boiling mix of helplessness and frustration that threatened to spill over. I knew my place in the pecking order—Bruce was always first. I glared at the two of them and my mind raced with fury. The living room felt like a cage and the acrid stench of cigarette smoke from the overflowing ashtray amplified the suffocation.
The room’s sparse furnishings—a worn La-Z-Boy and an ancient TV with a single, fuzzy channel—only added to the sense of claustrophobia and I squinted through the grimy window, trying to make out the barn, but the dirt-smeared glass obscured my view.
Minutes felt like hours, and as I waited my patience wore very thin and the damned clock over the fridge ticked away the seconds like a pounding heartbeat.
Bruce shot me one final death glare before he stalked off, disappearing into the hallway. Uncle John stomped over to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and leaned against the counter, leaving the fridge door open behind him.
I marched right up to him. “Did Bruce tell you about the woman?”
John took a swig of his beer. “Yes, and he said he’s handling it.”
“Handling it? He’s got her hogtied like an animal. We need to untie her.” My voice shook with anger.
John heaved a sigh. “Bruce told me about the bugs.”
His sudden change in topic threw me off. “Yeah, it’s Fall Armyworm, John. It’s bad. We need to burn the field?—”
“No,” John cut me off, taking another swig. “We’re not burning that field.”
“You don’t get it,” I said, my voice tight with frustration. “The field is infested. Remember what the Biosecurity Officers said last year? We have to act fast, or we’ll lose everything.”
John shrugged. “So, spray them.”
“No,” I snapped, clenching my fists. “We can’t do that. We’re an organic farm. No pesticides. We have no choice but to burn that field tomorrow. Maybe even all the paddocks.” I gestured toward the louver windows where I couldn’t see the cornfields that stretched out forever.
“We’re not burning anything,” John growled. “Use pesticides. That’s an order.”
I recoiled. “We can’t. We’ll lose our organic certification.”
John slammed his beer down on the counter. “I don’t give a shit about your organic certification. Christ, Cody! You’re such a pain in the ass.”
My jaw dropped. “Screw you, John. I bust my gut every day?—”
“Your damn certification makes it harder than ever to manage those crops.”
“Bullshit. We’re getting the best yields this farm has ever seen because of me.” I thumped my fist on the counter.
The air bristled between us as John’s eyes narrowed. “It was running just fine before you were dumped on me.”
His statement hit me like a punch to the gut.
I’d always known, deep down, that John hadn’t wanted me here. But hearing him say it out loud cut damn deep. Anger surged through me. “You might not have wanted me, but I was never a burden.”
John let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “What would you know? You were just a scrawny kid when you showed up. I gave you a roof, put food on your plate.”
My clenched fists trembled with my fury. “And you made sure I earned every bite. I’ve worked my fingers to the bone for you from the day I arrived. I was your fucking slave. Still am.”
“Slave?” He scoffed. “You know nothing about work.”
I jerked back. “I work damn hard. I’ve made this farm the best it’s been in decades. I saved you from running it into the ground.”
“Bullshit! You’re a fucking idiot.” His face twisted with rage, and he pegged his beer bottle at me.
Gasping, I smacked the bottle away. “What the fuck, John?”
He swung a punch, and I was too shocked to dodge the blow. His fist connected with my cheek. My head snapped sideways, and I staggered back. As the bottle rolled across the timber floor, spilling his beer, the sting of John’s punch rocked my senses.
I blinked at him. He hit me. He fucking hit me.
My breaths came in sharp gasps as I steadied myself against the kitchen counter.
John’s glassy eyes locked onto mine, his top lip twitched, and he lunged at me again.
I ducked under his wild swing and drove a punch into his sagging belly.
He gasped as his upper body slammed onto the kitchen counter, knocking dirty plates over the edge.
A demonic growl burst from his throat as he spun around, fists raised. “You ungrateful bastard.”
“Ungrateful? You’re the one using me! You pay me a pittance for the work I do. I make you money.”
John lunged again, throwing punches left and right.
I smacked his blows away and landed a solid hit on his cheek.
He spun backward, but the hatred in his eyes flared brighter. “You’re done.”
“Oh, I’m not done at all.” I raised my fists.
Anger radiated off him, fueling my own rage.
He charged at me again and I planted my feet, delivering a hard right hook that connected with his jaw.
He staggered back, crashing into a dining chair and toppling it over. Surprise flashed on his face.
“What? You didn’t think I’d fight back? You threw the first punch, Uncle John.”
“You ungrateful bastard.” He shook his head as if trying to free his drunken fog.
“Don’t do it.” I raised my finger, warning him to stay put.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Charging like a bull, he came at me again, fists flying.
I dodged his wild swings and drove my fist under his chin.
Gasping, he staggered backward, and as he flicked his jaw from side to side, his bloodshot eyes flared.
“Stop this,” I shouted, raising my hands.
His face blazed red, and rage simmered in his gaze.
His fury was about more than just what happened today. His anger stemmed from the day I was forced to walk onto his veranda as an eleven-year-old boy.
Uncle John hates me. He just never had the balls to say it.
With a roar, he charged again. I stood my ground, pivoting as he swung his fists. I rammed my knee into his gut. He doubled over, and I shoved his side.
He sprawled across the grubby counter, panting.
“Are we done yet?” I growled at him.
“Oh, you’re done all right. You’ll never set foot on my farm again.”
My brain splintered two ways. Defend my right to be here . . . or let this entire goddammed plantation implode.
John shoved off the counter and charged at me. I caught his swinging arm and using his momentum against him, I threw him into the open fridge door. Jars and bottles clattered onto the floor as he went down and faceplanted on the dirty linoleum.
“This farm is nothing without me.” I stood over him.
He struggled to push himself up but slumped forward into a pool of spilled milk. Shock registered in his eyes as his chest heaved.
Clenching my jaw to hold back the fury churning inside me, I stormed out of the kitchen.
“Don’t ever step on my land again! You gutless bastard!” John’s voice thundered behind me.
Fuck! This farm and the corn were my entire life. I burst onto the veranda and my breath caught in my throat. Across the yard, Bruce disappeared into the old barn. Son of a bitch! He’s going after her!
As I stormed through the darkness, my rage burned brighter with each step.
And I needed every ounce of that fire to take down that ruthless bastard.